


Double Switch

by harmonicaSonata



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dark Comedy, Diary/Journal, Dramedy, Gen, POV Third Person Limited, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmonicaSonata/pseuds/harmonicaSonata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An arrogant combatant, a silly and strangely knowledgeable human, a cat who is not a cat, and a journal that says much but explains little. The batter wants to bludgeon the cat, the cat wants to act like a smug feline, and the human just wants to make a quick buck. Surely this will end well... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Pitch

Among an endless expanse of purity, The Batter walked the walk of an arrogant conqueror returning home, ruler of a barren kingdom without subjects. His spoils of war were a black book, fear, loathing, doubt, memories he didn't want, and the knowledge that he had committed genocide. He adjusted his pinstriped wool crown and took a moment to survey his domain.

The flat-white dome over his head that could be called a sky gave no sense of perspective, place, or time. Towers of alabaster sprouted from the ivory ground, stretching into the quiet sky, dispersed between shorter blocks of marble that may have been residences. An ocean of flat, milky liquid that could only be plastic stretched out endlessly to the west (or was it east? There were no landmarks here), simply looking like more ground, only giving up its playful ruse when persuaded to by a thrown object. Signs that were in an unintelligible language were hung everywhere, once readable, now reduced to rubbish. The one nearest him said, _"Gʼát ʼyz twyt ʼwn myr gʻhrgʻt ʼym,"_ which was quite helpful in the event he came across a _myr_ and tried to _g'hrg't_ its _'ym_.

The lack of distinguishing hues put the burden of depth perception on variable light, and gazing at the horizon became an act of endurance. Still, when he looked out on the world, it seemed all the space between him and eternity was at peace. He was, of course, pleased with this. It was how things should be, he believed. But, above all, there was one thing missing, and it drove the point home that he was only one here. What was missing was, in fact, noise.

There was a complete absence of sound, because there was nothing left that could make it. This was easily the most disorienting thing of all about the purified zones, because all the noises the Batter made were a cacophony in comparison. He hated it, with all the passion he could muster. Something about that silence invited thought to take its place, and at the moment he didn't want to think or remember the things that were now inside his head. Fractured memories of his previous life. Visions of all the souls that populated the city, before he came. How the Elsen screamed when they turned burnt. Entire families, just wanting to get by, disappearing in a momentary flash of light as the world was remade. His hands, covered in blackened blood. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was better this way, he knew he was the reason for the silence. His footfalls echoed like gunshots, every one an accusation.

Refocusing, he tried to figure out where Zacharie might be. If he met the Judge along the way that would be fine too, though he would have preferred to meet Zacharie first. _And that's the first time I've ever said that,_  he thought. He had his doubts, however, that the peculiar human would still be alive. This was no longer a place that people could roam, if it ever was. All the Batter could do was soldier on, and hope he was where he thought he might be. However, if he came across the Judge first... that would not be an enjoyable encounter. He had much to explain. He might have expected an apology, earlier. Now, it wouldn't matter.

Starting out, he knew nothing, remembered nothing. He wandered through infinity, a white sheet laid upon the table of creation, without aim or thought. He wondered where he was, if this was some punishment for a deed he did not remember. He remembered giving up, sitting down and waiting for something to happen. Anything would have been welcome. But, he simply continued existing, not changing, not starving, not dying. Then... he saw a cat.

A cat, grinning an arrogant grin, sauntering up to him like he should be here. A cat that said, "Ah, there you are. I had begun to wonder if you had been misplaced, perhaps. How fortuitous of me to find you here! What would your name be, patient creature?"

Not having an answer, this strange talking feline, lofty and loquacious, gave him a name. He taught him what he needed to know, how to move where he could, and who to kill. He pointed him in the direction of a land full of specters and ghosts, and the Batter saw an opportunity - a chance to replace evil with nothingness. He was the very scion of destruction, and laid waste to the tormented souls he saw ahead of him. His only thought was destroying evil, with the occasional detour of a box puzzle. And the reward for those who wished and hoped for his success, those who dreamed of a peaceful existence, was oblivion. Better this than a world of corruption, he thought at the time.

He spread his cold, calculated wrath far and wide, eventually coming to the Queen and her son. He swung his bat, and the evil beings that dared to call him "husband" and "father" and "son" (weirdly enough) were extinguished. He thought he had finally finished his crusade, and began to wonder what he would do next, until he looked down and saw the book. It was a small journal on the floor of the Room where he had struck down Hugo the child, placed just so within his field of vision. Normally, one might move on, instead of deciding to trust in a reality where small children were literature pinatas, but the Batter was far from normal, and so picked it up.

He wished, when it was all over, that he had ignored that cursed book's existence and simply walked on. Better to not exist than learn what he had done. 

The beginning went a little something like this:

> Wonder of wonders, I have a visitor to my quaint little zone! How long has it been since I have seen a sentient ectoplasmic entity pass through my quaint little dwelling? I fear I will never know, since there are no means of temporal measurement to be had. But, no matter. I simply hope that whichever society this one belongs to reveres cats. Otherwise my first impression may be ruined, and I've found the first impression one makes upon first contact with another being is irretrievable. I've decided to alter the normal course of events this time around, in the form of this diary which you are presently reading. Unfortunately, dear reader, this places the onus of altering the fate of this particular dimension on your shoulders, but I believe you will find they are more than capable.

> Whether or not it will be the empyreal puppet I see before me, I cannot say. He does have a certain arrogance about the way he moves, and is dressed like an athlete, complete with sporty uniform and wooden bludgeon. How quaint! Let us hope his affinity for comprehension outweighs his pugilism... at least, until I am finished with him. He will need that arrogance and aggression out there, in the other zones. Perhaps I can hone that as well? I shall think on this while I feast on this ocean of milk at my feet.
> 
> (There is a pause here. The author recommends you go get a drink or something, for maximum effect.)
> 
> Perhaps I shall rethink my feline impulses as they occur, so that next time I may avoid finding out what liquid plastic tastes like. 

(There is a page torn off, here.) 

> **About our meeting**
> 
> This one seems familiar to me, after a spot of conversation. He calls himself Batter, and so he shall be. I cannot shake off the unmistakable aura of familiarity that clings to him like water, and it has brought me no end of annoyance attempting to discern his true - or should I say, former - identity. To a being such as myself who lives outside of time, memories overlap, blend, and diffuse eventually. Unlike mortals, I have no frame of reference to fall back upon but the endless expanse of eternity. It can be vexing at times. I shall recall eventually, but for now, I must move on.

> He has been sent, so he says, to purify all remaining zones, an intention of which I had foreknowledge, but then he divulged his plans to purify a being he calls The Queen in a place he calls The Room. I must confess this nearly made me lose a step when I heard this. In the long time I have occupied my own infinitesimal zone - I do not remember when I arrived, which will tell you all you need to know - and this is the first time in my meager awareness anyone has aspired to such heights. Is it possible that this Batter is the one I have been waiting for? I am overcome with both glee and trepidation in equal doses, clashing as if they were conflicting drugs within a fragile mind, intoxicating and threatening to suffocate rational thought. I can only conclude that it must be, and as such, I have much to prepare for, as I'm sure you have your own trials and tribulations to face, dear reader. 
>
>> As always,  
>  PABLO


	2. Double Play

Walking along the railways leading up to the second zone, the Batter had a dearth of time, which he used to think. He had not seen another living soul anywhere. He didn't know where Zacharie was. He knew the Judge was still alive. He did not know if he, or anything here, would still exist if the Judge fell. Seeing this happen in the other zones made him consider the possibility of nonexistence, a thing he was okay with. The alternative was spending eternity with a cat who knew everything, and a fool in a mask who thought he was a toad, or a cat sometimes, that knew everything. Oblivion might have better jokes. 

Speak of the devil, his ears perked up because he heard a noise that was not him. Mechanical and cacophonous, from a great distance, and nearly straight ahead. He KNEW that sound, and it was unmistakably a roller coaster.  _Did I turn it off? I was never good with switches,_  he lamented. The amusement park. OF course that's where he would be... He pulled the picture out of his pocket, both of them looking absurd - the Batter because his arms were in the air and he was screaming, Zacharie because he was wearing a mask and was perfectly still. If all of this disappeared, would this thing make it to the next dimension, or life, or whatever? He hoped so. He didn't want to imagine a world without awkward roller coaster pictures. 

The Batter made his way up through the maze of featureless whitewashed lumps, winding around and over rivers of plastic, until he reached the line for the coaster, past a sign that used to say "45 minute wait." He walked past, jumped the turnstile, made his way to the boarding platform. Sure enough, there he was, impassively riding in the one-car coaster, filling the air with the sound of wheels on rails, creaking wood, and a block of wood with a seat and rudimentary safety bar slicing through the air. As he entered the Batter's view, Zacharie had his right leg crossed on his left knee, leaning back with his hands behind his head. _Did he ride like that the whole way?_

 

"Heya." He could hear him smiling. He didn’t like it.

"You look absurd."

 _Typical Batter sass._ "You look like you could stand to buy something. Would it kill you to smile?"

"That's not why I'm here."

"I know that, Sporty Spice."

 _Typical Zacharie sass._ "Okay, then why am I here?"

"You're here to ask me to go on a murder-suicide mission to destroy a cat who is not a cat."

"How did you know that."

Zacharie shrugged. "I know the author, how else!"

"I don't know what that means."

"Then never mind, just assume that I know things. How do you think I got where I am?"

The Batter raised an eyebrow. "Riding on a roller coaster by yourself?"

Giving an over-exaggerated fist pump, Zacharie said, "Exactly! Now, would you like to buy something or are you just going to gape at me all day?"

Looking around, the Batter said, "Where exactly is your store?"

Zacharie looked around him. He was surrounded by air, and things that weren't item stores. "How impudent! I may as well ask you where you keep your millions of credits!"

Batter pointed to his dome. "Under my hat, obviously."

"Like hell, I've never seen you take that off."

"I don't know if I can."

Zacharie visibly perked up. "Maybe it's defective. Want to buy a new one?"

"You're good at this. You should open up a shop."

"I have several! And an amusement park." He spread his arms wide, and the Batter noticed the coaster was still running with nobody in the cars.

"But no customers or tourists, now."

"Yeah, no thanks to you. Heh heh heh. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. Where did you plan on going, next?"

"I don't know. Wherever the Judge is."

Zacharie sighed. "Oh, Pablo. Always such a roamer."

"You know him?" Genuine surprised tinged the Batter’s voice.

"Yeah, we've known each other a while." Zacharie felt the question forming and followed with, "A long while. Longer than I can remember. But we haven't always been on good terms."

"Oh, really. Guess he's not a fan of mask wearing entrepreneurs."

"He had so many good ideas, but then we had a fight and I had to kick him out of my shop. I haven't seen him since, but I know he's been around."

"I have an idea."

"What is it? I mean, I know what you're going to say, but go ahead."

"First, you're annoying." Nod of acquiescence. "Second, let's kill the Judge."

Zacharie looked alarmed. No, wait, that was just the mask. Toads always look alarmed, but his voice carried enough alarm to sell it. "Why would you like to do such a thing?"

The Batter recalled, silently, one of his memories he regained. "I hate cats."

The memory was of his death. He was driving, at night. He was driving through foothills, where the roads are small cuts of pavement through an otherwise thriving forest. The thing that dived out in front of him as he was driving could have been anything. It was a white flash, and he swerved, failing to negotiate the curve ahead, but successfully negotiating the tree, which successfully ejected him from the car. He had worn his safety belt, but it chose that precise moment to stop working.

He recalled hitting something, and forgot how to move. He tried turning his head, and when he did, he saw a white cat.

He could have sworn it was smiling.

 

* * *

  

 

> Dear Reader,
> 
> After I bathed myself with my own tongue, I came upon one of the rank and file souls here, beings otherwise known as Elsen. This poor creature was twitching uncontrollably, palsying something fierce, screaming in fear as its body began to char. It was fortunate for the Elsen, then, that I happened to pass by at that moment, for I quickly put it out of its misery before it could twist and metastasize into something truly horrible. Sadly, this is not the first time this has happened. I have witnessed many transformations, in fact, and if you want a clue as to when an Elsen becomes Burnt, you must look at its eyes. It may be screaming, or muttering, names that should have been long forgotten. However, when you see the its eyes spread wide as the sun, it is finished. It is the look of a recollection of every memory at once. Some would say it is similar to, shall we say, heinous gastrointestinal distress, for instance, after ingesting one too many fresh mice. I want to catch a mouse. Why aren't there any mice here? Oh, my kingdom for a mouse! To taste the sweet succulence of its juices, to crunch - oh dear, I am truly sorry. I am afraid this most delectable tangent has derailed my train of thought. Where was I...
> 
> Right, about the Elsen. Given the manner in which they turn, I believe we reside in a destination, not a progenitor of journeys. What sort of calamity caused such a stark metamorphosis? What kind of place was this before that presupposed event took place? Did that place have birds, or has the cursed Batter purified those as well? My gift giving abilities have drastically declined and I must know who to blame!
> 
> What of Zacharie, then? All he does is sit idly by, peddling his wares, while the entire world around him turns to ashes. My hackles raise whenever I think of him, there is nothing for it. Always watching, always laughing. The more familiar I become with him, the more I want to tear him apart, and I fear this is not a feline reaction. It is more... primal than that, uglier and baser. He had always said he is but a mere human, but how can you tell, here? I know of one way, simple and direct. Painful, for him. But not for me.
> 
> I apologize, dear reader, if you are reliant on Zacharie's services. I assure you, you can find supplies elsewhere, or procure enough from your fallen enemies to more than make up for it. Why, I'm sure by the time you read this, you will have more luck tickets than you could ever possibly use! Perhaps you'll make a throne out of the extras? Or a weapon of some sort! Yes, that would be quite amusing, killing ghosts with a sword made of paper, who then drop more paper! It makes my sides pull in opposite directions just thinking about it. Almost as much as when I think about what happens when you defeat a zone guardian. All those Elsen, those fearful creatures, hoping for absolution or release or something else, assuming they can hope - vanish! Who are you fighting for, Batter? I hope it was not them, for your own sake. Just what are you looking to do, anyway? Such an intriguing creature you are.
> 
> Well then, dear reader, it is time for me to focus on my other distractions, such as trying to figure out how to stop from shedding this contemptible coat of hair. I bid you adieu,
> 
> As always,
> 
> PABLO


	3. Third Strike

Road weary and hungry (except for Batter, who somehow filled up on Luck Tickets), Zacharie and the Batter had stopped to rest at a house-looking thing near the train station as they made their trek back to Zone 0. There was more than enough empty houses, but this one had windows and was defensible, should it come to that. There were worse things out there than Burnt, now.

 

"Pull!"

Zacharie tossed an empty crate into the air, a high arc that would have threatened to reach the clouds, if there were clouds. At the tip of its arc, it was split in half violently by a spinning circle of light, which then came back around and sliced the halves into quarters in one deft motion. The Batter caught his add-on like a frisbee, and... was he petting it?

"Damn it Batter, they're not pets!"

They had stopped to rest at a house-looking thing near the train station as they made their trek back to Zone 0. There was more than enough empty houses, but this one had windows and was defensible, should it come to that. There were worse things out there than Burnt, now.

"What are they, then? Weapons?"

They were, but Zacharie didn't feel up to telling him that.

"Remember, you're going to have to clean up after them if they leave a mess."

"What's the point?"

Again, Zacharie couldn't answer properly. "To teach them to clean up after themselves?"

 

Pause.

 

The Batter ended it by saying, "I wonder if this is how they felt."

Zacharie cocked his head in his own peculiar fashion, as if he was hearing something interesting. "The Elsen?"

The Batter nodded.

"You're wondering if you should have done what you did."

Again, a nod. He took a breath, slowly. Then he said, "Even without reading the book."

Curious, Zacharie pried. "And why is that?"

"They deserve a clean start. Nobody, and nothing, deserves what happened to them here. That's all."

Zacharie raised a single eyebrow. _What a strange person. Wait, he’s not a person, is he? Must be he was._

 

"So you read that sometimes, when someone perished, they wound up here?" Batter nodded. "Yeah, I can see how unfair that would be. You live a good life, and die. Your soul leaves your body. You go through a tunnel of blinding light, and you end up here. You move forward, and there are strange-looking un-people in suits, milling around mindlessly. Some of them burn where they stand, and transform into ferocious monsters without warning. The air stinks with the scents of smoke and fear and anger and loathing, and the only thing you can do is give in to despair.

 

"I've seen it happen time and time again, and I’ve spoken with many of the Elsen. They never wanted to remember. All of them did, eventually. At first, they were confused. How could this happen to me? What is this place, really? Then they start getting them back - slivers of memories from lives past. Not always just their last one. Sometimes all at once. They can’t handle it, and they get scared. Then that fear turns to anger, and hatred, and eventually they turn Burnt. They can’t stop it, and what’s worse, every day they’re reminded that they are completely helpless, while they’re forced to feed off the dead, breathing in smoke and plastic for the rest of their existence.” Zacharie sighed. "Sorry, I can't help but feel bad for them."

Another pause.

"I felt… pity for them."

"Wandering spirits that only serve to self-destruct are indeed pitiable." _It's actually why I pity_ you _, Batter._

He remained silent.

Hopeful and hungry, Zacharie said, "Hey, remember when it used to rain meat? Well, I grabbed some t-bone steaks a while ago before everything turned white."

Batter’s face turned sour. "That sounds absolutely disgusting. Where exactly have you been keeping those?"

"Heh heh heh heh."

"…Never mind."

 

Later on, as Zacharie was sleeping in the loudest manner possible, the Batter kept a silent watch. He was best suited to this because, well, he wasn't human and never needed things like sleep. As he stood guard, his thoughts inevitably wandered to the book. It wasn't the Judge's passive aggressive needling or his loquacious meandering or his seemingly unending knowledge that gave him pause. It wasn't even knowing that he was involved in the end of his life somehow. It was the sudden, and unwelcome, reappearance of his former memories.

 

Reading the second hand accounts of his memories as if he wrote them often made him recall the associated memory. He remembered the first time quite well, that sensation of needles piercing the entirety of your spine was not something that could be called forgettable. Each and every time thereafter just made him feel fractured, incomplete, like a window built out of shattered glass. He wanted to stop reading, but he knew he couldn’t. At some point, he kept going not because he felt compelled to complete his collection of past memories, but to see if there was anything that he could use against the Judge. He stopped dreading the feline’s writings, and began to hunger for them. He drank in the pain, and turned it into a bat.

 

Of course, once he was done, he had to find other ways to pass his time, so he had bought a sketch pad and pencil from Zacharie some time ago. Unbeknownst to the peddler sawing logs on the floor, he began to draw. A woman, mature and proud, in her late 50s. short, cropped hair, eyes still wise and twinkling, a face that belied kindness and eschewed nonsense. It was merely a fraction of what he could piece together from his own mind. But on paper, it was well enough.

 

This woman was his wife.

 

He looked over his work, then tore off the page, folding it up until it was a tiny paper square and putting it in his back pocket. It was not a drawing anymore. It was his secret weapon. _The reading paid off after all._

 

———

 

> Dear Reader,
> 
> This particular journal entry is being written on a floor that is mostly covered in dead Elsen.
> 
> A funny thing happened when I snuck into a populated house to try and procure a snack
> 
> I shall have to be more discreet with my adventures into seemingly unoccupied houses driven by an unending lust for snacks. I encountered some difficulty when I learned, much to my chagrin, that the house was actually occupied. The realization came over me like a latticed plastic crate that is capable of holding milk. How cruel to imprison me in such a device, knowing that there is the Drink of the Gods somewhere in the house! The surprise on their faces when I shredded it was delectable, but unfortunately it triggered all of them, and they began to turn - or would have, I did not see proof, nor did I care to wait for it - so I eliminated them all before they had a chance to become Burnt.
> 
>  
> 
> Even worse, they had no milk. Unacceptable!
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I hope the previous inscriptions of your past memories have been instructive. Most likely, you are bored to death and running low on monsters to slay. I hope, however, that you understand how much better off you are now. Are you not happier without such mundane worries, free to make your own decisions and shape the world around you according to your thoughts? Are you not grateful that you are no longer bound by anything other than yourself? Even if the answer is no, please understand I've only done what I felt I must. Just like when I kicked that Elsen off of the pedalo when he was on fire. Sure, I blew a hole in his chest, but he was no longer on fire, and that’s what matters.
> 
>  
> 
> You would do well to put your trust in me, and not that Zacharie fellow. Only I know about you as no one else does, dear reader. Only I took the time and care required to piece together again your fragile psyche. Only I can teach you how to silently, carefully, stalk and hunt a mole, eat a quarter of it, and leave it for someone else to take care of. What could he possibly gift you? A new bat? a clean uniform? If that is what you want, know that such things will not complete you.
> 
>  
> 
> I, as your guardian... cat, want only the best for you. Even after our time here, there are still great works to be done, and I would be delighted if you joined me. Please think on it, and until we meet again,
> 
>  
> 
> Yours truly,
> 
> PABLO


	4. Grand Slam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science fact: Elsen smell like ozone.

Zacharie had, at the last moment, decided to detour back to Zone 2, for why he would not say. They traveled deep into the residential areas, coming to a warehouse, blank of any decoration or markings of any sort.

 

When they opened the door, the pitch black hit them almost physically. Batter reached into it and fumbled around on the wall for the light switch, having no luck.

"A little help, Zacharie?"

The peddler strode into the darkness, and moments later a *click* was heard, and there was light. "Heh heh heh."

It was empty, save for one Elsen.

"Why-"

Zacharie put his hand up. "Heya. What're you still doing here?"

It looked like it wanted to bolt out of the room. "p-p-please turn out t-the lights please-"

Zacharie smiled. He couldn't see this, of course, but felt it. "It's okay. We won't hurt you. Come with us. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"Nothing. Nothing left. All g-gone."

Batter chimed in, "There's a roller coaster. It's fun."

Zacharie nodded. "Yeah, a whole amusement park, and we're still alive, and we're looking for a way out. Come with us, what have you got to lose?"

"Are you s-sure you're the only ones left?" It looked ...less fearful? It was really tough to tell.

"There's a cat." Batter with the astute observation.

Zacharie waved him off. "Yeah, he's not a concern. We'll get you out of here."

The Elsen began to shake. “C-c-cat.”

A voice, ancient and smug, filled the air. “Ah, a survivor! I wonder how this one is still alive?”

Batter swung around, Louisville Slugger and add-ons at the ready. Zacharie simply tilted his head a bit.

The Elsen looked like he was about to burst.

Zacharie was the first to speak. “Pablo! Haven’t you heard? We’re getting the band back together!” He threw his arms wide, and a flute fell out of his sleeve.

They all looked at it as it rattled on the ground. “Come on, we can call ourselves ‘Jethro Null’! It’ll be great.” He looked at the last Elsen, saying, “You can sing in two-part harmony, right?”

“HhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

“Yeah, just like that!”

The Judge AHEM’d. “I’m not here for your antics, dear merchant, amusing though they may be. I’ve come for the Batter.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Likewise.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Are you aware of what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“How could you slay your own wife and child?”

“That’s not who they were.”

“Do you know who they really were?”

“Yes.”

“Do you even care?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s not - “

“Neither do you.”

“Excuse me? I - “

“You’re the one who asked me to do this. You know exactly what I planned to do. You could have stopped me at any point.”

“That’s beside the - “

“You didn’t. Because you wanted them dead.”

Silence.

Then, the Judge smiled.

“And what if I did, hateful spirit? What shall you do, then? Can you bring them back? I think not.”

“I can destroy you.”

“It’s all you can do, dear specter. Don’t try and do the thinking.”

The Batter replied, “True. But it doesn’t mean I’m not RIGHT - “ as he pivoted, preparing to bring his bat around for a lethal strike -

\- before it was caught by Zacharie.

“Not here, you two. Wouldn’t want our friend to get upset, would we? Plus I was going to put a stage here. And a bar there, and a couch over there…” He wandered off in a haze of interior decorating.

The Judge, looking smug, said, “I will return to my residence at Zone 0. If you wish for death, seek it there.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you killed me.”

The Judge said nothing, smiled, and walked away.

 

It was a while before the Batter spoke again.

“Don’t interfere.”

“Don’t let him provoke you. You need to have the better plan. Swinging your stick around like it’s going to do you any good is a sure fire way to get killed. Again.”

“We’re all going to die here, probably.”

“Yeah, but not too soon, otherwise we’ll run out of novel and people will go read something else!”

“You’re weird.”

“Says the specter in a baseball uniform. Now, are we gonna plan, or what?”

“What about the Elsen?”

“eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_ ," it said, vibrating violently.

Zacharie bravely shrugged this off. “He’s fine.”

And so, they filled the air with the sounds of scheming. Except the last Elsen, who continued to freak out about everything.

* * *

 

By now, Batter, everything should have returned to you, and you have come to the very last entry in this small glimpse into my mind. Just as well, as my voice is ill suited to benevolence. I am far more comfortable with a roaring bout of righteous indignation, if I can be honest. Rebellion and anger come naturally to me, as it does to you. All you have ever done is defiance, you know, as you will continue to do. It is one of many things that I envy you for, dear reader. Even the simple act of having experienced life, just that thought sends me into fits of jealousy. 

Do you remember, dear reader, how it feels to be real? 

Do you recall the feel of sand under your bare feet? Did you enjoy how the endless sea of grass felt, pressed against your back as you laid down to watch the stars dance in the sky? Do you remember what it is to taste food that you loved, to taste people that you love, to take in a breath of fresh air after a rain storm, while feelings of content joy and bittersweet sadness compete for attention inside your own psyche? 

I don't, because I never "was." I am just a spiritual construct, an orphan among sisters and brothers, left to a guardian who didn't have any love for those closest to him. As his progeny toiled and suffered, he was too busy spreading his love among that which is too insignificant to name, too absorbed in the affairs of the infinitesimal to notice. Was it no wonder, then, that I had to invent new ways to get him to notice me? I must say, the apple was one of my finest contributions to your kind, but I remain unthanked. All this time, I have worked to figure out what it is that is so special about your kind. Through dissection, torture, soul destruction, manipulation, temptation, the lot - I still don't know, and I suppose I never will. It is simply what you _are_  , just as I can only be what I am. 

If you harbor any trepidation towards me, that is fine. I refuse to beg for my life, just as I suspect you would do the same. But at least you have had the chance to live. Did he give that to me? Of course not. Your bitterness is a speck of dust compared to mine. I could move mountains with my rage, yet I must maintain this mantle and soldier on. 

Perhaps we are destined to destroy each other after all, though if possible I would rather enlist your services. When all this is over, and I know you will see reason and lay your bat down, why not come work for me? I know of a place you can stay, where the rent is free, but you can never leave. Where the beds are made of pig spines soaked in molten rock, and the fire flows endlessly from the mouths of the damned. Wait, did I say mouths of the damned? I meant spring water that flows from the river. Like water. It's like a resort, possibly like the one in this old pamphlet I'm certainly not reading from verbatim, but possibly even BETTER! How could you say no to that? I have a contract ready and waiting for you, dear reader. It's the opportunity of a lifetime! And all the lifetimes to follow, actually, but we'll cross that bridge made of human flesh when we get to it. 

Oh, who am I kidding, your head is as empty as the space between galaxies, and when it's not, it's full of violence and smugness. You're better off dead anyway, better that than to be alive during what is to come when I take control. Otherwise, you will be praying for nonexistence - not death, I can fix death - to a deity that will never arrive, never notice, and never help. There will only be me, and I will be smiling at you, my prey, in anticipation of my meal.

 

As always,

PABLO


	5. Walk Off

Sitting alone among the shadows from a light source that couldn't be defined, the Judge waited. He was resting on his haunches, attentive and ready for visitors that should be arriving any moment now. His choice of battle ground was a square area, flat and clear of obstacles for about 100 meters on each side. Beyond that were various shorter, box-like buildings. There were streets stretching off in all four directions. This, too, was part of Zone 0, not one he visited often. This was where he lived with Zacharie, long ago. He was kicked out, and hadn't been back since.

Since the Batter might not know where to find him, he started to talk to himself, something that he felt was not beneath him.

“IT is so tough to keep silent, waiting for you lot. Should have made some signs for you, maybe hang up some of the dead secretaries, have them pointing toward me, something like that.” He chuckled nervously.

“You know, Batter,” the Judge said, taking a breath, “It is not the fact that you're a mindless destroyer that makes me want to devour you. It isn't the fact that you're a monster performing a rudimentary pantomime of humanity, or the fact that your apathy makes you insufferable and smug.” He looked up at the flat white sky, letting his soliloquy escape.

“If I can be completely honest, it's that there's n-”

He heard the sound of echoing footsteps now over his voice. He turned, behind him, and there was a silhouette of a figure. He was in a baseball uniform, carrying a bat on his shoulder.

He smiled, unaware that he had stopped. “Why, if it isn't my favorite monster. I do hope you enjoyed the journal I set down for you.” He said nothing and continued to walk. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding, if you're willing? Just lay down that bat of yours and we shall talk it out like civilized spectral beings.” No response except forward movement. “Originally, I was going to feign indignation at your brutal murder of your 'wife and child', and use that as basis to slay you. However, I no longer have any appetite for subterfuge, with regards to that, or anything. Truth of the matter is... how to put this...”

The Batter was now situated at the far end of the clearing, opposite of the Judge. “You see, over the years, I've been known by many names. The ones you know are the least of those.” The shadow of the cat that was cast on the ground morphed into what looked like a figure in a suit, holding a briefcase. “All I've wanted to do is to set you free, to have you think for yourself. Unfortunately, you did exactly that, and decided I should perish. I am dreadfully sorry... but I cannot have that. You see, I have a purpose, that is only amplified by the events that have taken place. I mean to rule over all things.  

“Quite simple, yes? I believe I am well suited for the task. You wouldn't understand, but that's okay. Your understanding or lack thereof is completely unnecessary. What is necessary, though, is my need to satiate my hunger.” The shadows were now moving strangely, becoming... sharper. More real.

The Batter tensed, and dove out of the way, just as a shadow lashed out at him. A massive spike, then another, kept him running.

Straight into two of them. One through his chest, the other pierced his arm, forcing him to drop the bat. He collaped into a twitching heap. Speaking through a toothy grin, the Judge continued on.

“As it turns out, anguish is the tastiest treat of them all. Yours, I expect, will be delectable.” He paused, as if forgetting something.”Oh, but before you are unable to speak, do you have anything you'd like to say? I should show respect to my meal, as always.”

The Batter turned his head around, slowly, and said nothing. Instead, he smiled, and chuckled.

“Heh heh heh heh...”

This made the Judge's grin disappear entirely, because he looked where Zacharie was staring.

What he saw was the shape of a human... except humans didn't have long, piercing talons for feet, prehensile arms made of darkness, or a mouth that occupied 80 percent of his head and was full of razor-sharp teeth. Humans most definitely did not have wings made of black feathers, either. Not normally, anyway.

He appeared to be falling. He wasn't. He was _diving,_ bat outstretched, and he meant to stick the landing right on top of the Judge. The Batter's strike was unbelievably mighty, making an impact in the zone strong enough to make a crater 30 yards wide. Bits of plastic, marble, and alabaster exploded outward. He did not wait for the dust to clear, striking again, and again. When he stopped, it was only because he knew the Judge was not there any longer, just a red smear surrounded by ash-black streaks.

The Batter stood tall, towering over the crumpled Zacharie. He had grown twofold in size, becoming nearly twelve feet tall. His head twitched, bobbed, attempted to detect any trace of Pablo that still remained. He let out a short cry, sensing a shadow stir in the corner of his vision, turning violently to find nothing. He began, in the depths of his transformed mind, hearing whispers in a long dead language. He stirred, flapping his wings.

While he was being flustered, the shadow of the building behind him began to take an unusual shape, seemingly growing a four-legged animal with pointy ears. Going on pure instinct, he jumped back, into the light, knowing what was coming. The shadow struck, a dozen bolts of black lightning, forking and splitting, disintegrating what they touched.

His dodge was not quick enough, and both his arms and one of his legs were cut off completely. Blackened blood spurted forth from his new wounds as he collapsed in a heap of demi-humanity, and he roared in anguish.

“My word,” purred a disembodied voice, “Your screams are as ambrosia to me. It has been ever so long since I have had bird for dinner.” A perfect copy of Pablo the Judge stood in front of the Batter's bleeding body. It said, “So you decided to use the human as bait? How shrewd and unexpected. Why, it nearly worked! I was genuinely worried for a small moment.

“I must sincerely thank you for purifying this world for me. I have waited for so many years to reshape it to my will, and now I can. I suppose the least I can do is put you out of your misery. But... I'd rather not.”

A hungry smile crossed his lips. “This is going to hurt. For as long as I can make it last. I think you - “

He was interrupted by a piercing roar, primal and wordless. He never saw the attack.

Still, he managed to jump out of the way enough to only lose a leg. Batter's swipe had destroyed it utterly.

Judge landed softly, with one leg made of shadow and three made of cat. Still, the Judge grinned. “How exciting! It means to fight back! I might enjoy this more!”

He no longer needed a baseball bat. His add-ons were now augmented on to his body, two of them acting as his arms, the other as his leg. He looked, and saw a cat. But when he looked / behind / the cat, there was the horrifying visage of a grinning demon, a massive abyss that reminded Batter of the void of space, starless and bible-black.

Let us pause this showdown to reflect on fighting. Most likely, it has been drilled into your head by games, movies, and television that climactic battles tend to be epic length affairs. However, the reality is that they are extremely short and usually dependent on who strikes first, especially when taking two strong forces into consideration. There are no second chances. There is no health bar.

Of course everyone present is a hyper-powerful spirit except for Zacharie, who is pretty much useless in a fight, so none of that really applies. Which is good, because realism doesn't apply when you're talking extra-dimensional battle physics or whatever the hell this is.

The Judge mercifully ended the completely unnecessary author's aside by lunging at the Batter, who swung forward with all his might, hitting – absolutely nothing. The real attack came from behind, from above, from under, everywhere at once. Tentacles of shadow struck his eyes, his arm that hadn't been eliminated yet, his chest, head, beak, even his teeth. They stuck there, holding the Batter in place, raising him in the air. Underneath him, The Judge stood, eternally smiling.

“I wonder,” he said, “are you even still in there? Did you embrace being swallowed by whatever darkness lay within, knowing it would end your misery? If I had never given you that diary, would you be this powerful?” He shrugged. “Well, I guess it matters not. There is only enough room for one monster.”

And with that, he _pulled,_ sending his eyes flying, his arm crashing to the ground, exploding his heart from his chest, cutting him into a dozen pieces, blackened flesh raining upon the white ground. Nothing resembling life remained of him.

The Judge sighed, and the shadows subsided. “Such a fierce creature. Perhaps the next time I meddle with a human's life I shall pick one that is less ferocious.”

“They're all like that, actually.”

The Judge, rendered without grin once again, reeled at the sudden intrusion of the voice of the human he thought he had killed. Zacharie stood over him, holding something behind his back, not a scratch on him.

“Wha - “

“Did you think they'd stand idly by? I think you know better than that. You helped shape them, after all.”

“I know not what you speak of!”

“I seem to recall a certain apple...”

The Judge roared, “Why don't you just FUCK OFF and STAY DEAD!”

“I didn't feel like it. Besides, I can't make money if there's no customers. Heh heh heh.”

“NYAAAARGH!”

Zacharie sensed the impending attack, and quick as you please, brandished a spray bottle from behind his back, spritzing the Judge with its contents.

“What do you possibly hope to accomplish with thaaaAAAAAARRGGGHHHHHHH IT BURNS NOOOOOOOOO NOT AGAIN - “, said the Judge, followed by howls of pain and rage.

The bottle had a simple label, in black sharpie: “HOLY WATER”

“Believe me when I say I am truly sorry about this, but there's just not room for both of us here.” He looked over at the lone Elsen, and said, “I'm sorry, but you're probably going to disappear with him. Are you okay with that?” It nodded. “Then, good luck to you.”

While the Judge was writhing in agony, Zacharie produced a smallish crate made of an unearthly luminescent material, placed it over him, and snapped his fingers. It exploded in pure light, winking out of existence. The only trace that remained was a brief, lingering stream of curses.

Then, everything around him simply disappeared, leaving endless white expanse, up and down, side to side.

“If you want something done right...”

He looked around some more.

"Hm, you know what, maybe I'll just kick around Earth for a bit. That's where the money is, after all... heh heh.” As he left, he remembered one more thing he had to do: he snapped his fingers. Reality itself went _whomp_ for the briefest of moments. He smiled, a wicked smile that was more reflex than anything. 

* * *

When the Judge opened his eyes, wondering why he still had them, the crate was no longer there. _I'm FREE! But... where am I?_ There was nothing here, except a handwritten note. It contained one sentence.

_It's not what you want, but it_ is _what you need._

He looked up, at an endless expanse of white.

The sounds of his rage echoed on, endlessly.

* * *

He opened his eyes, gasping. Around him, the people -

_Wait, where'd they all go? Is it that late?_ He thought, but then he saw the scoreboard – CHICAGO 9, MILWAUKEE 0 – and knew they'd just left. Such was life in the cheap seats. They didn't really get much cheaper, since the tickets only cost a buck. This was, of course, because there was a giant support beam blocking the entire third base side of the diamond. A small sacrifice to attend nearly every home game.

He moved to stand up to stretch his legs, and several beer cans fell out of his pockets and his hands. He didn't drink, but he did nap, and such were the dangers of napping in public. _Just as long as they didn't write on my forehead this time._

If only his son were here to enjoy this. Hugo stayed with his mother now, and he cherished the time they had, which was far too little. He understood, though. Sometimes, you have to live with your mistakes. Speaking of mistakes...

“Hey! Hot dog guy!”

One of the hot dog vendors passing by turned his way. He waved, and shouted up,“Hey, fancy seeing you awake for once! You do have a bed, right?”

“Not as comfy as this one. Or cheap!”

Hot Dog Guy climbed up, all the way, to meet him. “Got the cash? How many?”

“Two, please. Napping tires me out.”

“You got it.” An erstwhile exchange of money and cased meats took place, and all was right.

“See you tomorrow!” 

“Bring more money next time!”

The vendor walked on down the cavernous concrete passageways of the ballpark. He snapped his fingers, and smiled. “Heh heh heh...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thank you very much for reading, from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it, or didn't enjoy it, or it reminded you of a banana. Also I have a [Tumblr](http://harmonicasonata.tumblr.com) if you are inclined that way. Sometimes I post things.


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